


Dogs Chew Bones

by Metallic_Sweet



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: (bring him home), Canon-Typical Violence, Fever Dreams, Food Issues, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Moral Ambiguity, One-Sided Attraction, Other, Power Dynamics, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 12:04:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5868745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metallic_Sweet/pseuds/Metallic_Sweet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Urie plays a game.</p><p>(I bark. I bite)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dogs Chew Bones

Hate.

It surges up. Over the grief. A fire blanket against a fire that won’t go out. 

Grief has been a leech in Urie’s gut for so long. 

Father. Shirazu. Father Shirazu fathershirazu no no No NO 

(…)

 

There’s no body to put in the ground.

Urie doesn’t scream. Doesn’t cry. Doesn’t keel over as his body is trying to make him. It wants him to fist in his hand in the newly turned ground. It wants him to scream at the empty box, the mocking tombstone, the horribly clear sky. 

(why aren’t you saying anything?)

“Not coming?”

Mutsuki. Urie looks up. They both look good in funeral blacks. It looks horrendous on Yonebayashi. It would have been absurd on Shirazu. Shirazu who was –

“Shirazu is not in that grave.”

Mutsuki stares at him for a long moment. Slowly, he makes his way down the hill. He lingers two steps to the left and one back. A left hand. Advisor. Urie doesn’t swallow.

“Who would have thought Aogiri would go after his transport vehicle, too…”

(the credit for that)

“Bones,” he says, a strangely distant sound to his own ears, “are just masses of phosphorous and calcium. Corpses are just lumps of meat.”

He feels heavy. Drained. The leech has grown. Urie has a feeling of a ticking clock in his chest. In his gut. He doesn’t know what it means. 

“That is what I would have said,” he murmurs, “some time ago.”

(I lied)

 

Hate. 

He grasps onto it. Hatred, jealousy, anger: it unsticks him, makes his blood move, replenishing from the persistent sucking of the leech. 

Urie grits his teeth. Rises to his feet. His body (kagune) aches. His gut screams. It brings him back to his knees, a hard thud on the training room floor with a groan. He’s alone. He’s hungry. So hungry. He’s so hungry all the time these days. Food tastes (acrid rotten) awful. He chokes it down in the privacy of his room, chased by thick, bitter instant coffee to blot out the taste. The food makes his stomach roll and the excess caffeine makes his hands shake and head spin. He’s begun to fear that he is (changed) sick.

(the leech is growing)

He buys Tylenol and dried lemon peels at the pharmacy. Goes back to the Chateau in a daze. He takes the Tylenol with hot water curled up on his bed. He attempts to nibble on the lemon peels. He feels like he once did when he was very young and had the flu. That has to be it. It’s just the flu.

(liar liar pants on fire)

 

He spends a lot of time in Washuu Matsuri’s office. He follows orders well (bark bark).

“Could you file these papers?” 

Urie smiles. “Yes, of course.”

Financial records. Personnel files. Old case documents from when Matsuri gets nostalgic for his accomplishments, which is often. He’s so fragile, Urie finds. He needs to have his ego stroked constantly. 

“In Germany, the weather is so much better.”

It’s raining, a humid, summertime storm. It’s the first time that Urie has been alone with Matsuri on the Washuu estate. Once, he would have rejoiced at this. Now, he feels odd. Raw. 

(the leech is chewing up his gut)

They are sitting by the tall glass doors that lead out to the balcony. Just the two of them and German wine. Urie listens. A cocked ear. Matsuri smiles, a look that could be indulgent if it wasn’t so sharp. He doesn’t love anything half as much as he loves himself. 

(is this what I was becoming?) 

“Have you ever thought about traveling?”

Dinner is a rock. Answer. Answer. ANSWER

“Yes.”

(but I was so young)

“But only if it’s required of me.”

He sips his wine. Chances a glance over to Matsuri. It’s a placid, almost lazy gaze that stares back. 

Something shifts. Not the leech. Urie breathes in.

“My work is my priority.”

(bark bark)

 

He dreams about his father.

Urie isn’t given to dreams. He never has them, unless he’s sick. Returning home in the early hours of the morning from the Washuu Estate, Urie had lost his stomach in the bathroom, the room and floor spinning dizzily. Too much to (eat) drink. That’s all. So he is sick, and he is dreaming. 

His father sits next to him on his bed in the Chateau. A strong, reassuring presence. Urie feels feverish and weak. Everything aches. 

“Dad?” he asks, unsure.

His father smiles. Holds out his hands. Something untwists in Urie. He manages to shift in bed as his father extends his arms. He holds Urie like he did when Urie was frightened of thunderstorms. It makes Urie’s heart thud painfully in his breast.

“Good boy.”

It’s his voice. His father’s voice. Urie buries his faces against the fabric of his shirt. Cotton. Dark blue. It’s what his father wore on the weekend and on the rare days he had off. Urie inhales, the scent of detergent strong. His father rubs his back in slow, soothing circular motions. 

This is a wonderful dream.

(Happy happy I’m so happy)

 

He oversleeps. 

It is the weekend, and there are no pressing issues, so he doesn’t miss anything, but he dislikes it. It takes him an awful amount of time to get himself out of bed. His limbs feel like lead. His head spins. The smell of eggs in the kitchen make his stomach roll, but he needs coffee. He stumbles about his room and then to the bathroom. He spits up clear liquid in the shower.

(am I dying?)

A ridiculous thought. Urie opens his mouth in the spray, letting it wash out the acrid taste of bile. He should see the doctor. A less ridiculous thought, but not one that he’s going to acknowledge. He’s got a lot to do. He can’t be held back by a stomach virus.

(the leech sucks)

“You don’t look so hot,” Yonebayashi says when he finally drags himself into the kitchen.

They’ve lived together for almost two years. Urie doesn’t know if he’s lived with anyone that long. Not since –

(…)

Urie doesn’t say anything, but that’s the norm. He forces his hands not to shake as he takes out a mug and pours coffee from the machine. He brushed his teeth, so the coffee tastes awkward. He only allows himself a long sip before turning around. 

Yonebayashi and Higemaru are sitting at the dining table. They’re both dressed. Yonebayashi even has some light makeup on. Urie sips his coffee as they watch him standing in the kitchen. Curious. Bright-eyed. Trusting.

(don’t look at me like that)

“Are you going out?”

“Uh huh,” Yonebayashi says, lips lifting. “There’s a sale on at Animate.”

Urie doesn’t roll his eyes. “Have fun.”

Aura has gone home for the weekend as he usually does. Shao is somewhere. Probably at the gym doing additional training. That’s where Urie would prefer to be, but he feels too wobbly and lightheaded. He’d just end up hurting himself.

(I need to figure out what I _can_ eat)

He waits until Yonebayashi and Higemaru are gone. He opens the cabinet they use for coffee and tea. There’s a box of sugar cubes that Yonebayashi and Aura use. Urie takes it out. Stares at it for a long time.

He remembers his father, winking mischievously and sneaking a cube into Urie’s tea because he hated tea even then.

Urie opens the box. Plucks out a cube. He eats it, hands twitching from caffeine and exhaustion. It’s horrendously (nostalgic) sweet, but it doesn’t want to come back up. He eats another and then another before he manages to stop himself. The paper package is almost empty. He extracts it, crumples it up, and disposes of the cardboard box before shoving the sugar cube packet in his trouser pocket. 

He finishes dressing (weather: cold) and heads out. He shoves his headphones on and puts on classical music. Scarlatti. Absolutely no German composers. He used to love Beethoven, but Matsuri –

(…)

He ends up going to a farmers market. It’s lunchtime by the time he arrives, and it’s bustling with people. He’s glad that he had the foresight to eat the rest of the sugar cubes on the train. This would be too overwhelming otherwise. Too many people. Too many sounds. 

He wanders around. No real plan in mind. He stares at leeks and tomatoes and apples and a lot of gourds. There’s strawberries, curiously out of season. Last year, Suzuya –

(I didn’t eat it)

The man at the stand notices him staring. He smiles, a friendly salesman smile. 

“Would you like to try a sample?”

The strawberries are candy sweet. They’re tiny and just that right place between firm and soft. Urie knows that he’s showing his pleasure too plainly as the man is already packing him a box. He hadn’t actually intended to buy anything, and he would normally refuse, but he can’t live off sugar cubes and coffee. 

“Do you have any other suggestions?”

The man beams, a much more honest expression. It’s the face of a man who enjoys his work. Because Urie is ill and not on his toes, he feels the urge to smile back.

“How about a clementine?”

He peels one right there, handing Urie a piece before setting out the rest on a sample plate. The flesh gives easily, bursting with a sweet-tart flavour over Urie’s tongue. Into the back of his mouth. Urie wants to hold it here, savour it, but that would be strange (unnatural), so he swallows. 

“Yes,” Urie says. “A dozen, please.”

He ends up with a carrier bag full of clementines, two baskets of strawberries, and a sample jar of honey that the man included. Urie takes out one of the clementines, eating it furtively on the train back to the Chateau. He feels (less afraid) better with something in his stomach.

He was out longer than he anticipated, though, because Yonebayashi and Higemaru are back. They look away from the television to Urie at first with mild curiosity and then in surprise. Urie toes his shoes off. 

“You didn’t go to the gym?” Yonebayashi asks, actually setting down her controller and swinging fully around on the couch.

Urie doesn’t respond. He doesn’t have to. He moves into the kitchen, setting the bag on the counter. There’s a new pot of coffee. He moves to wash his hands as there’s a shuffling behind him. The scrape of one of the stools at the counter.

“That’s a nice jumper,” Yonebayashi comments. “Did you go on a date?”

“What,” Urie says before he can stop himself.

He pours himself coffee before turning around. She’s draped on the counter, peering at him through lazy eyes. Her newly short hair doesn’t flop into her face to obscure her expression. It’s (disconcerting) still something he has to get used to. She looks like a cat’s that’s got both a mouse and cream.

“Who’s the lucky –”

“There isn’t anyone,” Urie says before turning around.

She says something, but he ignores her. He sips his coffee and washes the strawberries. The clementines will keep in the refrigerator, but the strawberries are ripe and best to eat as soon as possible. There’s quite a few of them, but he can’t help but want to horde it all to himself. It had been the plan, but now Yonebayashi has taken notice, and Urie must share.

He turns around. Both Yonebayashi and Higemaru are now sitting at the counter. Urie wants to glare at them. He might be (sick) cantankerous at the best of times, but it doesn’t turn them off from the prospect of free food. He sets the bowl of washed strawberries down on the counter more forcefully than necessary.

“No cream?” Yonebayashi whines.

The thought of cream is nauseating. “No,” Urie snaps (snarls) even as he draws out a stool himself to eat.

She doesn’t say anything. Just reaches out and takes a strawberry. Higemaru does as well, although his eyes flicker back and forth between Yonebayashi, the bowl, and Urie before hastily looking away. Urie reaches out. Takes a strawberry. It’s the first time they’ve eaten together since –

(…)

 

He’s in Matsuri’s office again. He’s there often. More often than anyone else. It’s gotten to the point that people ask him to carry messages to Matsuri. He does so. Smiles as he accepts.

(bark bark)

“Join me for lunch.”

Urie knows he should be better than this, but he dreads those four words. Matsuri orders in his lunch, always various Western fare and almost always meat-heavy. It’s expensive, and Urie knows that he is expected to (pass this test) enjoy it. Matsuri is giving him special treatment. He needs his ego stroked at regular intervals. Once, Urie would have jumped (salivated) at this opportunity. 

(I’m tired)

“Have you given a thought to it?”

Urie blinks. He swallows his piece of roast potato, which gives him time to rewind on Matsuri’s ramblings. But he hadn’t been rambling. They were sitting in silence. Eating.

(Is this a test?)

“It?”

Matsuri smiles. He doesn’t bother attempting not to make it look cruel. Urie wants (to carve it off his face with his kagune) to sneer.

“You’ll come to know in time,” Matsuri says, a mockery of reassurance. “But think on it until then.”

Think on it. Whatever it is. It makes Urie’s stomach turn. They finish lunch in silence. Matsuri sits back with a pleased sigh. Urie sits ramrod straight. Paying attention. Hyper-focused. He feels (afraid) uneasy.

“The little girl,” Matsuri murmurs to himself as he picks up the file at the top of his inbox, “doesn’t have much time.”

The file is for Fueguchi. Sasaki’s responsibility. Urie feels (cold) uneasy.

“Whatever,” Matsuri says before placing the file to the side. “I’ve got a lot of work to do, so you’re dismissed.”

Urie stands. Bows. A thought (ghost) prickles over his spine. 

(don’t die)

Haru.

 

There’s a knock on the door frame.

“Urie?”

He looks up. His head feels like there’s a thousand bricks weighing it down. Mutsuki is standing in the doorway. He looks surprised to see Urie there. Or maybe he’s surprised that Urie didn’t notice him first. Urie’s hearing has always been the best out of the Quinx. Mutsuki’s eyes flicker from the grotesquely deformed child in the bed. To Urie in the singular chair.

(the leech sucks)

“I didn’t know you visit.”

“I don’t,” Urie says.

It’s true. He has only been here once before, two days after the Tsukiyama Extermination. With Yonebayashi, who sobbed anew at the sight, and Mutsuki, who was nearly ill. Mutsuki isn’t ill now; it’s Urie, although for wholly different reason. He doesn’t comment further. Simply enters the room. He moves to the bedside. Adjusts the tiny wrinkles in the sheet. Something to do with the hands.

(let her die… peacefully)

They end up down in the hospital cafeteria. They both have coffee. Black. Urie’s head is spinning. He should have taken painkillers, but he can’t become dependent on it. He saves it for the weekend when he buys fruits. When he can be certain his stomach will cooperate. When he can enjoy the modicum of relief.

“You don’t look good,” Mutsuki comments. 

Urie sips his coffee. He doesn’t have energy for this. Matsuri’s luxurious lunch hadn’t stayed down. He feels listless, which would be bearable if not for the headache that accompanies it. He doesn’t want to start running a fever again. He knows (it’s happening again) that something is wrong.

Mutsuki sighs. It’s not at him. It’s a listless sound. Urie feels a sense of kinship to it that he can’t be bothered to squash. They look identical, fitting into their CCG uniforms like hands in gloves.

“What are we going to do?”

What would have been Shirazu’s share of the money for taking down Noro is fast running out. They’ve been spending it as Shirazu would have: to keep Haru alive. To keep her from feeling pain. Urie lifts his cup to his lips. Sips. It’s more water than coffee.

“He said –”

“I know what he said,” Mutsuki interrupts, but it’s not angry; it’s resigned. 

They finish their coffee in silence.

When Urie gets back to the Chateau, Yonebayashi is waiting for him. It’s just her in the living room, her cell phone in hand. Urie toes off his shoes. Moves to sit on the armchair adjacent to the couch. The television is on, the volume turned off.

“You went to visit, too?”

Urie nods. He leans back into the cushions. Looks at the television. It’s late night anime runs. Something with giant robots. Urie can’t remember if he ever watched any of this as a child. In truth, he doesn’t remember much of his childhood.

(liar liar)

“I don’t,” Yonebayashi whispers, “want her to die.”

Urie doesn’t say anything. They’re not able to run around like they used to, collecting (credit) bounties. There’s no guarantee they’ll have more money in the new couple of weeks. They can either afford the medicine that keeps her RC cells repressed, or they can afford the painkillers that make her existence marginally bearable. They’ve spent already far more than Shirazu’s share.

“He said –”

“He was dying,” Yonebayashi says, so fast and so harsh that Urie looks at her; she’s close to tears. “He didn’t know what he was saying. Shiragin would never want –” 

Something comes undone.

Urie is on his feet. He doesn’t know why. Or how. His vision tunnels out. He’s staring into blackness. He’s tired. He’s sick. He –

“He wanted it!” he barks, snarls, howls. “That was his dying wish! That she be allowed to die, peacefully!” 

He can hear himself breathing. He can hear his heart beat. Urie sucks in a breath. It stutters out. He does it again. He forces himself to unclench his fists where they’ve balled up at his sides. His vision is slowly coming back. Yonebayashi stares at him. Wide-eyed. Urie swallows. He can feel his kakugan, bleeding over his features. He reaches up. His hand is shaking. He covers his eye. Sits back down.

(I lost control)

“That,” he says, a choked, strained sound, “is what I think we should do.”

Yonebayashi doesn’t say anything. She hugs her arms around herself. Urie sits back. He shuts his eyes. Forces himself to control his kakugan. He feels weak again. Sick. Dizzy. 

(I’m so tired)

They buy the painkillers. There isn’t enough money for the medicine. The doctor tells Mutsuki, who texts Yonebayashi, that Haru will live for a while longer, but her mind will likely be completely gone in a week or two. 

“She’ll go soon after, probably,” Mutsuki says, dropping by the Chateau late Friday night.

Yonebayashi sniffles. Wipes her eyes. Urie doesn’t say anything. There is nothing to say.

“How’s it been?” Mutsuki asks Yonebayashi after Urie excuses himself to his room.

“Alright,” Yonebayashi says; they’re speaking in whispers, but Urie can still hear. “I miss Maman.”

(that’s not your Maman)

Urie opens his desk drawer. Lemon peels and Tylenol. He doesn’t bother sealing either packet anymore. He eats two of the peels and dry swallows the pills. He lets his elbows rest on the desk, slouching in the chair.

“How’s –” Mutsuki starts.

“He can hear us,” Yonebayashi shushes. 

Urie grits his teeth. He doesn’t care if they talk about him. He doesn’t care if they disapprove of him. Urie never set out in the world to be liked. He wants to (be acknowledged) move up in the ranks. He doesn’t need to be liked for that.

(bark bark)

 

He runs a fever in the night.

“You need to rest,” his father says, stroking his hair in the dream.

“I can’t,” Urie mumbles. “I need to find Shirazu’s body. I need to put him to rest.”

(like no one would do for you)

His father sighs. Urie opens his eyes. His head is pillowed on his father’s lap. His father gazes down, a gentle, fond expression on his face. It makes Urie’s heart ache.

“You need to rest,” his father repeats.

It’s not a reprimand. It’s the gentle, loving tone that Urie misses so much some days that he worries he made it up. It’s a fever dream. Urie shifts, burrowing into his father as much as possible. The hand returns to his hair. Slow, reassuring strokes. They draw all the ugly things out. They don’t judge.

(don’t die)

Urie wakes up, freezing and in tears.

 

Seeing Matsuri on Tuesday is far too soon. 

“Take these down to the archive for me and pick up the rest of the files on Sasaki’s claim.”

Urie smiles. “Of course.”

The smile slips right off of his face as soon as the office door closes behind him. He’s so often reduced to a personal secretary. Perhaps lower than that as at least Matsuri’s actual personal secretary isn’t obligated to eat lunch with him and listen to his stories and egotistical rants. It is a way to learn about the inner working of the CCG and to make sure that Matsuri helps him climb the ranks, but it is wearing on Urie’s already thin (non-existent) patience.

(if I wasn’t so hungry tired weak)

The chief archivist smiles when she sees Urie. “Hello, Urie-san. Thank you for returning files for Washuu-san.”

She’s a sharp woman. She does not ask questions, and she answers Urie’s inquiry about the old files on Fueguchi promptly. She doesn’t attempt to engage Urie in conversation further as he moves into the stacks. It shouldn’t surprise Urie. She, too, used to be an agent. It’s how she lost her legs.

He’s pulling out the relevant files when he hears voices.

“A black reaper,” someone mutters.

“How dramatic,” someone else scoffs.

“Still,” the first whispers, tightness in his tone, “nothing good can come of mixing ghouls and humans.”

“Disgusting,” the second hisses in agreement.

(this isn’t new)

Urie leaves, not caring if he is rude. He storms back into the elevator, teeth clenched so hard they squeak. The door shuts. It begins to move. 

(don’t lose control)

The elevator lets him out back on Matsuri’s floor. Urie steps out. He turns left. Walks the ten paces into Matsuri’s office. He raises his hand. Knocks.

“Come in.”

Matsuri doesn’t look up at him. Urie crosses the room. Sets the files on the in-tray. Matsuri finishes signing a document for another prisoner’s execution.

(the leech sucks)

“Is there,” and it is like speaking up from underwater, “anything else you need?”

His lips twitch before he looks up. It turns into a thin smile as he meets Urie’s gaze. Urie does not breathe in. This close, he can hear Matsuri’s heartbeat. It’s slightly elevated. There’s a slight dilation to his eyes.

The world flips.

“No,” Matsuri says, completely neutral. “You are dismissed.”

Urie smiles. Bows. Turns on his heel. He risks an inhale just before he steps out the door. The hallway is empty. Urie walks to the bathroom. He steps into a stall. Shuts the door. He stands for a long moment. Hands clenched at his sides. His heart thunders in his ears.

(a weakness)

For the first time in months, Urie feels strong. 

 

Yonebayashi is sitting in the chair next to Haru’s bedside. 

“Oh,” she says, looking up at Urie in surprise.

Urie looks to the bed. Without the RC depressor medication, the deformity has spread. It’s suspended by more cables, and there’s a new, wicked structure branching off from its origin in Haru’s face. It’s in danger of crushing the oxygen mask. Urie swallows. 

(Dad…)

“Yonebayashi,” he says, all of his authority as First Class in his mouth as he dumps his coat on the floor, his kagune bursting out of his back, “hold her down.”

To her credit, Yonebayashi doesn’t hesitate. She flings herself over Haru’s unresponsive body as Urie lunges. It’s an awkward strike and an even more awkward swing. He over-balances and has to spin himself hard onto his knees so not to accidentally hit Yonebayashi. She’d survive, but the bed and likely Haru would not. 

“Oh,” Yonebayashi breathes as Urie forces his kagune to disperse and retract with a choked curse.

Urie turns around. He managed to cut the grotesque extension off about a foot over Haru’s face. It’s a ragged, uncontrolled break. The girl’s head wobbles slightly still on the pillow, but Urie managed to avoid the oxygen line and the rest of the machinery. The precious IV drip that’s now all painkillers. The disconnected growth swings wildly above them, the supports groaning. 

Nurses and the floor’s on-call doctor show up very soon after. Urie has just had enough time to pull his coat back on as they rush around. Yonebayashi has started crying, but Urie recognizes them as crocodile tears.

“I think it just gave,” Urie says when the doctor asks what happened. “It was a shock.”

The doctor squints at him, but Urie is not carrying a quinque. He is impassive. Blank. Powerful. 

“That is possible,” the doctor says, very carefully, his eyes flickering with suspicion. “It has broken before. She is growing weaker.”

“Yes,” Urie says, very softly, looking down.

(liar liar)

Yonebayashi takes the train back with him to the Chateau. They say nothing. Her eyes are completely dry. 

“Why?” she whispers as they climb the stairs. 

(...)

Urie takes out the keys.

“Shirazu wanted her to die peacefully.”

He looks at her, those mismatched eyes that they share.

“It’s not peaceful if she’s crushed to death.”

Yonebayashi smiles. It’s a tired, worn thing. It saps the youth out of her. They’re only nineteen.

(I’m tired)

 

A plan is forming in Urie’s mind.

It’s a bad plan. He knows it. If he was to tell anyone about it (who? Yonebayashi? Mutsuki? No one cares), they would tell him that, too. So he doesn’t tell anyone. He doesn’t need to. 

He forms it between training. Investigating. Herding the inhabitants of the Chateau. His vendor at the farmers market gives him a free jar of honey. It’s so delicious after three lunches in a row with Washuu that Urie nearly eats all of it in one sitting, distracted in front of his easel and the scent of paint thinner filling the room. 

“Want one?” Yonebayashi asks, holding out a bag of mini Kit Kat when Urie comes out in the late evening.

She and Higemaru are playing video games again. Urie crosses the room, his paint supplies he needs to clean in hand. His fingers are dirty with paint and the remnants of honey. Yonebayashi takes one look and then starts to open the wrapper.

“What –”

“Your hands are dirty,” she says, very logically. “Open your mouth.”

Urie stares at her. Yonebayashi snaps the two bars. She leans up, holding one of them out at the level of Urie’s head. It smells sweet. Palatable. Delicious. Urie never used to like sweet things this much. 

He snatches it with his teeth before turning toward the kitchen. He tilts his head back, using gravity to tip the bar into his mouth. The wafer tastes stale, but the chocolate is palatable in its coiling sweetness. It strikes him as he puts his supplies in the sink that this might be why Yonebayashi eats so many. Why she likes excessively salty things, too. It masks the prominent taste of rot in everything.

When he’s done washing up, Urie turns to head back to his room only to be pelted in the forehead by packet of Kit Kat. A full-size one. He catches it with a growl.

“What –”

“Didn’t know you like them so much,” Yonebayashi calls as Higemaru looks back and forth between them as if they’ve grown another head. “It’s an early Christmas gift.”

Christmas isn’t for another three months. Urie doesn’t throw the packet back at her. Instead, he moves to stand behind the couch. Higemaru looks alarmed and uncertain. Yonebayashi just raises an eyebrow. Her lazy grin doesn’t move.

“I better not be sent out for a damn turkey again this year.”

Her face shifts. Splits into a huge grin. It brightens her entire being. It’s utterly different from the night before. 

“Of course not,” she chirps, “’cause you’re going to be cooking!”

He shoves her in the forehead and leaves, indignant squawking from Yonebayashi and surprised laughter from Higemaru in his wake. 

(he’s even a little bit happy)

 

Mutsuki texts him in the middle of the night.

_can we talk?_

They meet up at a classical music café. It’s very slow, and most of the clientele are at least two decades older than them. Mutsuki wears dress shirt, clearly second-hand with slightly too long sleeves. Urie wears the black jumper he bought from Uniqlo when he realized he would be going to the farmers market more than just once. He only had the one jumper. 

(no life)

“That’s a nice jumper,” Mutsuki says. 

Urie looks at the menu. Five different types of coffee. He orders the first one when the waiter comes by. He says _yes, please_ to sugar. It makes Mutsuki blink, but he doesn’t ask any further. 

“What is it?”

Mutsuki sets down his cup. Keeps his hands around it. Steam rises between them.

“Yonebayashi told me what happened at the hospital.”

Urie stirs a second sugar cube into his coffee. “So?”

Mutsuki pauses for a long time. His visible eye flickers but doesn’t break their shared gaze.

“You wouldn’t have done that,” he whispers, “some time ago.”

Urie feels himself smile. It’s not a pleasant look. It’s not a public look. It’s too much of who he is. It’s the leech, a gaping, bloody maw. He hastens to lift his coffee to his lips. Sip it. It’s like swallowing a candy bar. When he sets it down, he’s able to school his features back into something like his usual blandness.

(don’t lose control)

“Do you disapprove?”

“No,” Mutsuki says, eyebrows drawing together. “Of course not. I,” and something intense and furious flickers momentarily before he gets in control of it, “wish I’d thought of it myself.”

They finish their coffee in companionable silence. They leave the café after splitting the bill, walking slowly through Shibuya. It’s crowded, but it doesn’t bother Urie like it normally would. They only stop once when Mutsuki points out a wagashi shop.

“For Special Class Suzuya,” he explains as Urie trails after him.

“Are you still working with him?” 

“Not officially,” Mutsuki says as they get in line behind two middle-aged ladies laden with shopping bags. “But I see him sometimes.”

Urie grunts. He watches Mutsuki pick out wagashi. He wonders if he’d be able to eat these, too, but they’re expensive and it doesn’t look like the shop is inclined to offer samples. Mutsuki pays with the last of the money in his wallet. They exit the shop in silence.

At the station, Urie turns to Mutsuki. He opens his mouth, but the words he wants to say don’t come out. What comes out instead is:

“I know how to get Shirazu’s body back.”

Mutsuki nearly drops the wagashi. He fumbles before reaching out and grasping Urie’s elbow. Urie can hear Mutsuki’s heart pounding as he pulls them back from the platform. Towards the men’s room. 

“Urie,” Mutsuki hisses as soon as they’re inside and it’s clear that no one else is there, “what –”

(the leech sucks)

“I have a plan,” Urie says, even though the unflushed waste from one of the stalls is incredibly strong.

“A plan?” Mutsuki nearly shouts before biting his lip, forcing himself back under some modicum of control. “His body is with Ao –” 

“I have a plan,” Urie repeats, and some time ago it would have been snide and condescending; now it is plain and simple truth. “I need to know if you’re planning to stay with Hachikawa’s squad.”

The way Mutsuki looks at him is the same as he did back during the Auction Raid. Fear. Uncertainty. But, above all, a hellish sort of understanding. 

“Yes,” he says, very softly. “At least for now.”

(I’m giving it my all)

“Good,” Urie says, his gut rolling but his heart steady. “Good.”

 

“Rank One Urie,” Matsuri says at the end of a meeting, “a moment please.”

Everyone else is filing out. Matsuri doesn’t speak until the door closes behind them. 

“You seem distracted.”

Urie does not lick his (chops) lips. “Not particularly,” he says, very smoothly, very levelly.

Matsuri raises an eyebrow. Strangely like Yonebayashi. It’s a rare natural expression.

“Then what is it?”

(tell me) 

“I was remembering last Thursday’s lunch,” Urie says, smiling like Yonebayashi does when she’s got a good joke to play. “The custard was excellent.”

Matsuri is playing close attention to him. To his smile. Urie doesn’t let it shift. He can hear Matsuri’s heartbeat. A slight pick up. A coil of scent. 

(I’ve changed)

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Matsuri says, smooth and neutral except for what he doesn’t know Urie can sense. “I’ll order it next time we dine together.”

Urie lets his smile spread. Move his eyes. Matsuri drinks it in, heart rate increasing. The scent of arousal growing. Hatred burns in Urie’s gut. Through his veins. The leech sucks greedily even as Urie closes his fist around it. Poised. Controlled. Steady.

“That would make me very happy,” Urie says.

The best thing is:

It’s true.

(I’m strong)

 

In one form or another:

Urie is going to bring Shirazu home.


End file.
